Dengue Fever

 Tuesday, Sept. 3 was my last day in Mexico. My daughter and son had come to help me with the move. My son left on Sunday, and my daughter and I flew out together on Tuesday. 

But an interesting development occurred at around noon on Tuesday. All three of us developed symptoms of Dengue Fever, the body aches, fatigue and fever. Apparently we had all been bit by the same mosquito 4 or 5 days previous. This photo was taken about an hour before our symptoms hit.

Dengue lasts about 7 to 10 days. By day 10, I felt pretty well back to normal, with the leftover rash and brain fog being the final symptoms. My son, however, was still suffering with body aches. I felt so bad since my kids had come to Mexico to help me and they both ended up with worse cases than what I had. Fortunately, they are both better now.

This is the second time for me. I had Dengue ten years ago in Guatemala. It is like a really serious, long-lasting case of the flu. Your head and eyes hurt, your entire body aches-- bones, muscles, everything. Even the skin hurts. Fever comes and goes. The danger is high fever and internal bleeding. When that happens, it can be life-threatening and you better rush to the hospital. Fortunately, none of us had these symptoms.

Then when you think you're getting better, a rash shows up, that can create burning, prickly skin in random locations. My daughter's hands turned red and swollen and felt like they were on fire. She submerged them in ice to get relief.

There is really no medicine for Dengue, antibiotics or such are ineffective. You basically take aspirin or other pain meds to reduce swelling and give some relief. That's about your only option. 

The year 2023 had one of the highest levels of Dengue Fever ever reported in Mexico, and 2024 was even higher. I guess it's no surprise that I got it as my goodbye present from Veracruz.

My History with Social Media

 I began this blog sometime back in 2010, either before or after my second book came out, as a way to market and to connect with other writers. It wasn't my first go round. Does anyone remember AOL? It had a basic blog format where I wrote personal entries to share with my family. Then one day AOL disappeared along with my posts.

When Google developed Blogger, easy to use and very popular, I signed up. Those of us who have been at it for awhile will remember how fun it was in those early days when followers and comments showed up in droves. It seemed like everyone was starting a blog, especially writers. 

Facebook was growing as well. Soon Twitter was a thing and I signed up there too. All over social media, blogging friends found and followed each other.

I had a nice, long fling with Facebook, who I'm currently mad at and ready to break up with. It won't let me share these posts on my page, saying they are offensive and against their standards. What? I write about simple, everyday things, never anything controversial.

As far as other social media, I'm on Instagram and Pinterest but never go there. I signed up for TikTok a year ago when one of my sons had a viral post. It was fun to see it get all those views for awhile. When that ended, so did my relationship with TikTok. I hate it there. Feels so frenetic and disjointed, definitely not my thing.

Interesting how my history with social media began with blogging and is ending the same way, back to the very same blog I started in 2010. It's nice that Blogger is still here, still easy to use, void of Facebook's foolish, discriminatory rules. 

There are even a few of the same blogging buddies from the early days, although they don't post or comment nearly as often. None of us do--it's amazing that we're still active here at all. 

I found some wonderful new blogs through the A to Z Challenge. I love spending a quiet hour in the afternoons scrolling through my Reading List and seeing the updates of new posts to read and comment on. Only there's not enough of you. I enjoy following blogs on all kinds of topics and I only wish I could find more.

What to do when you don't want to do anything

 We all have those days. Lately I've had too many of them. What does one do when productivity seems to flee and you don't feel like chasing it down? 

My recent time-waster has been watching reality cooking shows. I was really into Guy's Grocery Games with Guy Fieri, who I think is so cute and charming, a bigger than life personality. He often brings his family into his shows, which I admire. He and his wife have been married over 20 years and they have two sons who Guy is obviously quite proud of. The oldest, Hunter, has gone to college and joined his dad in his media/food business.

I was watching episodes of Guy's Grocery Games every evening on HBO Max until they found out I was in Mexico using a VPN. What the heck? That's the point of a VPN. It hides your location so you can watch shows broadcast to the US when you're in Mexico. Well, it didn't work anymore and HBO Max diverted me from the US service to the Mexico Max service. No more Guy's Grocery Games.

Fine then. On Mexico HBO Max I got into Chopped, another reality cooking show similar to Guy's, where chef contestants have to compete against each other while cooking weird things according to the game rules. Chopped is a long-running show of many seasons and episodes, except that only a few seasons are streamed to Mexico Max. 

When I ran out of Chopped episodes, I found a few interesting cooking contests hosted by Gordon Ramsey, who is also cute and charming, as long as his swearing is bleeped out. So lately it's been Master Chef with Gordon Ramsey. Unfortunately, it also streams only a few episodes to Mexico.

I'm not sure what my obsession is with reality cooking shows but they sure help to pass the time. In only a few weeks, I move back to America where I won't need a VPN and I can watch whatever the heck I want. But then I won't need to fill the empty hours because I will be near my family where there's always something going on of greater interest than TV.

I came to Mexico in 2020 on what was meant to be a three- month retreat in a tropical climate near the beach. For reasons too numerous to explain, it turned into my home for four years. And now I am leaving, more than ready to go, and simply filling the time until these few weeks pass when I get on that plane to Salt Lake. 

I like to cook and eat while watching the cooking shows. This is my stacked salad topped with spicy beans and honey mustard dressing.

Colca Canyon Tour

Another story based on the experiences of my son Forrest and me during our three months in Chile and Peru. If you'd like to read from the beginning of our adventure, Letter A is where it begins.

 Arequipa, Peru is high in tourism and tour-related industry. For our final week in the city, I hoped that Forrest and I might take an excursion together. I collected pamphlets around the square and comparing them, we liked the Colca Canyon tour. It offered either a day's trip to Colca Canyon or a three-day hike into the canyon. They provided meals, a tour guide, and overnight lodgings with a local family. 

“That’s too planned for me,” said Forrest. “If I hike the canyon, I’ll go on my own or with friends. And we’ll camp.” 

I suggested the day trip. “That way you can see if it’s worth an overnight trip later.” 

Forrest agreed, set everything up with the tour company, and informed the front desk of our early pickup time. 

Since the main door was not open at four a.m. a hotel employee had to arrive and unlock a side door for us. The early hour was to get us to the viewing area when the condors are most likely to be there. Seeing these impressive birds in flight over the canyon was meant to be a highlight of the excursion. 

It was very cold that early. I dressed in layers and wore my long sweater coat over a sweatshirt. 

The van had space for fifteen or twenty. I chose seats halfway back, sitting next to the window and leaving the aisle seat for Forrest. This allowed him to talk to other passengers if he felt like it, which he usually did. 

Our fellow passengers were from all over. We heard German, Russian, Italian, and French as well as Spanish and English. Arequipa is a magnet for global tourists. It is a beautiful, historic city and makes a convenient stop for those going to Cusco and Macchu Picchu. The Colca Canyon, even deeper than the Grand Canyon, is a major attraction. 

After four hours of driving, we stopped in the mountains for breakfast, provided as part of the tour. On each plate was bread and a pat of butter. Coffee or tea was available at a side table. Once everyone had entered and seated, a server came around with a modest serving of scrambled eggs for each person. 

After breakfast, people dispersed and wandered through the small grounds outside the restaurant. Near one of the buildings, two kids in traditional dress performed a dance. They were both dressed in skirts, although one was much prettier and danced more gracefully than the other one.

Back in the van, the tour guide explained that the dance was one of courtship performed by a girl and a boy dressed as a girl. The dance celebrated past Incan history, when protective parents did not want young men coming to the house to see their daughters. To get around this obstacle, the young man would disguise himself as a girl to visit his sweetheart. The parents, thinking the visitor was a girl, welcomed him into the home. It was only after several visits, once the parents got to know him and like him, that he would reveal his true gender. By that time, they were fine with it and allowed the young couple to continue their courtship. 

Our tour guide shared other interesting information as we traveled through the mountains. An earthquake some years ago had damaged many of these hill communities and caused such economic hardship it took years to recover. He pointed out where landslides had destroyed valuable grazing and crop land. 

He explained about sheep, llamas, and alpacas, all of which are raised here, and the differences between them and the yarn woven from their wool. He told us about coca leaves, how everyone chews them for energy, health and to better adapt to the high altitude. 

I had seen the loose leaves in bowls served with hot beverages. When I took herb tea, I always added several to the hot water in my cup. The guide passed a small bag for us to try, especially since we were headed to higher altitudes.  They are dry like bay leaves, and I had no desire to chew on them.

When we reached the viewpoint of Colca Canyon, we did indeed see a few condors flying over the canyon. There was a short hike to a better viewing area if we chose to go. 

Hiking up to the viewing area

Forrest had paired up with an attractive Dutch girl from our van. I walked up on my own since Forrest tended to disassociate himself with me in public. Why would he want a girl knowing that he was traveling with his mom? Understandable and it didn’t hurt my feelings. 

After the condor viewing, we drove further to where the herds of llamas were kept at 14,000 feet elevation, well beyond Arequipa at 7000 feet. Llamas thrive at these higher elevations, the guide explained. 

Upon arrival at the llama pasture, our guide invited us to walk onto the field for a closer look. The animals were peaceful and calm, he said. We wouldn’t bother them or they us. This explained why the people loved their llamas and treated them like pets, carrying the babies around in their arms, and leading full-grown ones on a leash. Once in Arequipa, I walked past a couple maneuvering a llama into the back of a taxi with the rest of their family. 

Llama faces all have that adorable little smile. No wonder everyone loves them.

Llama herd at 17,000 feet altitude

At this elevation, I became dizzy and nauseous and couldn’t walk down to the herd. I wasn't the only one affected. People were bent over vomiting and a few lay on the ground. 

I sat on a rock until I felt well enough to head back to the van. Our guide handed us cotton balls dipped in rubbing alcohol as therapy against altitude sickness. He told me to sniff it, and then he rubbed it on my forehead. Instantly, I felt normal again. 

When Forrest arrived, he said he felt fine, maybe a bit dizzy. I rubbed the cotton ball on his forehead just the same. It surprised me that he had not been affected since he came from nearly sea-level Portland, and I was living in Utah at 7000 feet. But then there were those vomiting and collapsing, so I suppose it affected people differently. 

On the drive back, we stopped at a scenic area near a river, where people could swim in the hot springs or walk along the riverbank. You could go on a twenty-minute horse ride for a small fee. I waited in line and enjoyed a brief ride with a silent, cowboy-ish guide. We clomped along a quiet paved road with a beautiful view of the river below. I could see Forrest and the Dutch girl sitting on a couple of boulders next to the river, talking and throwing stones into the water. 

Finally, it was time to return to the van and continue on down these mountains. As we reached lower elevations and drove through hilly, green fields, it felt like traveling through farm country back home. The well-tended fields of crops, cows, horses and sheep grazing in pastures, with the occasional house with its fences and gardens looked like paradise. I imagined those living in such an environment must be the happiest people on earth. Farm country in Peru was not that different from farm country in the U.S. It had that same well-ordered, peaceful aura. 

Our final stop was in a small town where a buffet dinner was offered at a hotel. Forrest and I wandered in, looked at the price and decided against it. Instead, we walked to the center of town and chose a restaurant near the park. I wasn’t hungry and just ordered a soda. Forrest bought a sandwich and fries. 

After that, it was straight down to Arequipa. 

So, we had done the Colca Canyon tour. Forrest said, "As much as everyone raves about it, I wasn't that impressed." 

I think what most impressed him was the lovely blond Dutch girl. After we disembarked in Arequipa, I noticed the two of them exchanging phone numbers. I smiled at that and thought of the Incan courtship dance. Ah, the circle of life.

Guilty or Not Guilty?

 I have a lovely sister who is my best friend, close in age but as different in personality as two people can be. 

Karen and Jeri (on the right)

She feels guilty for all kinds of things, but I hardly ever do. Unless I do something rude or stupid or mean, then I feel bad and will apologize. But my sister Jeri feels guilty about the strangest things, like reading a book instead of cleaning out a closet. Or skipping a party or event when she is tired.

Jeri has a blog where she posts her poems, and recently she added this one about guilt. Her blog is here if anyone wants to check it out. It is called The Rhythm of Life. 

I'm curious where people stand on the topic of guilt. Are you one who suffers under feelings of guilt even when you've done nothing wrong, like my sister in her poem? 

And what do you think causes this anyway? Why does one person second guess every decision and feel bad when she makes one choice over another? And another (me, for example) goes her own way guiltlessly content with how she chooses to spend her time and resources? 

It is something my sister and I have always puzzled over.

Guilt poem by Jeri Franz

Guilt for sin only, my husband will say.

I laugh and reply, you don’t understand my way!

I feel guilt when I leave grandkids or a place too soon

And guilt when I take too long looking at the moon!

I feel guilty for spending too much time at one child’s place

Thinking I should be with that other one, like it’s some kind of race.

And to take a day and do just what I would like to do?

With no kind of chatter or shoulds blocking my happy view?

Oh my, I can’t imagine but I think that sounds divine!

So one day a week I’ll accept no guilt and I'll feel just fine! 

When I’m shopping at Goodwill or wandering in a store

Instead of chiding myself I will smile and browse a little more.

If I take too long reading or stay a while more on the couch

I’ll smile and accept myself for I am happy instead of a grouch! 

For in this world, the days we are here seem to quickly flee

And I don’t want to waste any more days pitching guilt at me!! 

So at least one day a week and who knows maybe more??

I’ll enjoy each place my feet are, for feeling guilt is such a chore!! 

Bad News and Comfort Food

Another story based on the experiences of my son Forrest and me during our three months in Chile and Peru. As before when I posted daily for the A to Z Challenge, my intent is to make each one complete in itself. If you'd like to read from the beginning of our adventure, Letter A is where it begins.

Forrest and I had made ourselves cozily at home at Estancia 107. We were sorry to leave it. Our spacious room held a couch, three big closets, two queen-sized beds, a makeshift kitchen counter, and the satisfactory routine that comes with staying three weeks in one place. 

The Hotel Royale wasn't as nice. Not as quiet a street, not as solid a building. Noise carried. Our cramped room was up a couple flights of narrow stairs. 

The window looked out on the scenic volcano Misti. Because it also opened to the balcony where other residents passed to and from their rooms, we kept the curtains shut on the lovely Misti. Still, the place was clean and affordable with a professional staff. Tolerable until we left Arequipa next week for Cusco and Machu Picchu. 

                                              The view of Misti outside our room

The hotel offered a free breakfast that we tried the first morning. It was below the ground floor near a small kitchen and so chilly I drank cup after cup of hot manzanilla tea. They provided toast, milk, and a small serving of scrambled eggs for each person. 

After breakfast, I showered and went out to drop off the laundry and pick up a few things at the store. When I returned to the room, Forrest sat cross-legged on his bed with a stricken look, staring at his cell phone. He looked up at me and said, “My friend’s dad just died.” 

“Which friend?” I emptied a sack of bananas and a few sodas from my backpack.

“James,” said Forrest. He shook his head at my offer of a banana.

“James who?” There was James Dickson, but certainly it couldn't be his dad. Casey Dickson was barely fifty. I had worked with him back in South Jordan when he was bishop of our ward and I was Relief Society president. 

“James Dickson is my only friend named James. His dad just died.” 

“What? Casey Dickson died?” 

“Yeah. From a heart attack. Our friend Brandon just texted me. Bishop Dickson was in Idaho when it happened, and Brandon lives there now. I guess someone called him to the hospital to give a Priesthood blessing, but Bishop Dickson died right before he arrived." 

Casey Dickson was too young, this was too sudden. Bishop Dickson had been such a good friend to our family. I cried for his wife Cathy and their kids, several of them still young and in school. 

Forrest and I sat frozen on our beds barely able to comprehend it. We couldn't help but think of our own family a year ago. I was in Salt Lake City then, worrying over my husband, watching for every little sign of recovery or improvement.

“At least Dad didn’t die suddenly,” Forrest said. 

Bruce had suffered an aortic rupture, normally fatal, but he had made it into surgery. We waited through those long hours and rejoiced when he survived the operation. Not yet awake, but alive. It was impossible to sleep, not knowing if he would last the night. 

My daughter Allie, a nurse, said, “Mom, no matter how long or short of a time Dad has, we can be glad it was not a sudden death. Because sudden death is the worst.” 

Bruce fought to survive and improve, although never able to leave hospital care. He died four months later surrounded by his family. 

I couldn’t imagine how awful it must have been for Cathy back home in South Jordan, learning that her husband had succumbed to a fatal heart attack in another state. I felt terrible for her. It was sad and tragic. 

“Are you going to the funeral, Forrest?”  Mentally, I was at the hospital with Bruce, where of course I couldn't attend a funeral. My husband was on the verge of life and death. But perhaps Forrest could go and represent our family.

Forrest stared at me. “Mom, I am here with you in Peru.” 

How strange to have reality shift like that. “Oh, right. For a minute there I forgot where we were.” 

That evening, Forrest and I wanted comfort food. We checked first for chorizo burgers, but our favorite street vendor wasn't there. 

We decided to get salchipapas instead, a favorite of kids and teens in Arequipa. The best place for salchipapas was a little place over by Estancia 104. They nearly always had a line out the door and down the street. Most people ordered to go, although they did have a few tables inside. The line wasn’t too long, thankfully, and we took our plates to sit at one of their tables. 

The cook was man in his fifties or sixties, helped by a plump woman of the same age, probably his wife. She bustled about passing out the orders and bringing her husband whatever he needed so he wouldn’t have to leave his grill. They seemed so happy, like they were living their dream.

The menu was salchipapas, fried chicken, and rice or noodles. Salchipapas are French fries topped with cut-up hot dogs, topped with watered-down catsup, mayonnaise and hot sauce. They don’t sound like much but they're delicious and comforting. 

So the night our friend died, we went for salchipapas and fried chicken.

A Reader Review Event is Not a Book Blog Tour

 For some reason, I did not realize this event had posted 3 weeks ago:  https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/2024/06/we-burned-our-boats-review-event.html.

So it's a bit late, but I thought I'd share it along with my analysis of the experience. 

Women on Writing, or WOW, calls this a Reader Review Event. I signed up for it as part of my marketing for We Burned Our Boats. I've done blog tours before with Women on Writing, and I've recommended them to my authors. Blog tours are great for marketing and generally worth the money, especially when the participants do a review instead of an interview or guest post. 

A good review is the gift that keeps on giving. The publisher can take snippets of it and post with the name of the blog on the Editorial Review section of the book's Amazon page. When they're chosen carefully, these snippets will help to sell a book. Reviews from random readers are nice if they post on Goodreads and Amazon, but a good editorial review on your Amazon page is way better.

I chose WOW's reader review option rather than their book blog tour option, not realizing fully the difference. It didn't help that the person I dealt with seemed distracted and not forthcoming with information. Although I sent her my updated photo and bio, she used an outdated one from a blog tour I did with her ten years ago for Afraid of Everything.

I missed the event because she didn't notify me when it posted. I only happened to come across it online. And were there links to blogs where I could see the full reviews? I guess not. The participants apparently aren't book bloggers. They're individuals who agree to do a review in exchange for a book. WOW facilitates the process, which is what you're paying them for. Fair enough, but for a little bit more money, I could have gotten the traditional book tour with links to the participating blogs. Perhaps with the upgrade, I might also have gotten better communication from my facilitator. 

I do think most of my book's reviewers did an excellent job. I'm overall pleased with their reviews, just not sure the value of this service was worth the expense. If I were to do it again, which I won't, or advise anyone else, I'd suggest they pay a little more and get the real book blog tour instead of the cheaper reader review option. 

Malfunctioning Blog List

 I should never have deleted my Blog List. I could have edited and updated it without deleting and starting over, I'm sure, and that's what I wish I had done. Because although everything on the gadget looks like it should work, it's not working. The list doesn't update itself according to new posts. It doesn't show the titles and snippets of the most recent post. It's only a list of blogs I follow with a quick link to their blog.

I've taken it off and added it back numerous times to see if that helps, but it never comes back like it used to, with the functionality working as it's meant to work. Where you can see the blogs you follow automatically updated according to their latest post. I've tweaked it every way I can think of, but still get nothing but the links. No snippets, no automatic updates.

This is a small and simple thing that's causing me way more frustration than it should. If anyone knows a way to fix that gadget I'd love to hear your ideas. And if anyone is tempted to remove yours and reinstall to update it, DON'T. 

The Shabby Corner Hotel

 Working on my South America manuscript, I found myself editing it in sections for blog posts like I did for the A to Z Challenge. Well, why not go with it? So, this continues my South America stories where they ended on April 30.  

They'll show up now and then rather than daily like in April. As before, my intent is to make each one complete in itself whether read from the beginning post or coming to it for the first time. This manuscript has yet to have a title or an ending. But you'll find a story woven through these experiences of my son Forrest and me during our three months in Chile and Peru. I hope you enjoy it.

A couple days before we left Estancia 107, I finally satisfied my curiosity about a nearby building on the corner. It looked like a large three-story house, gated with a small front garden. When I asked the hotel clerk at Estancia about it, she said it’s called Runcu. They allowed long-term guests for about 700 soles a month, the clerk said. That was only $200 a month!

Walking past a few days later, I saw a lady outside doing a bit of gardening. I greeted her and asked if she owned the building. A nicely dressed middle-aged woman who cares about the property and decides to pull a few random weeds. In other words, the owner.

When she responded in the affirmative, I asked if I could see a room. “I’m staying at Estancia 107 now, but I’d like to return to Arequipa next year for a few months,” I explained. 

I found her friendly and easy to talk to and we hit it off right away. She said, “We mostly rent to professional people who need to stay in the city for awhile.” 

“That’s perfect for me,” I replied, “because I want to enroll at the Spanish school and study.” 

She took me around to see the available rooms. They looked shabby but comfortable, what one might call “shabby chic.” Except that shabby was no longer chic, especially not in a hotel. Still, it was clean and quiet, obviously well-cared for by this pleasant lady and, at $200 a month, the price was right. 

“We are putting in a kitchen with laundry for guests as part of our remodel,” she said. “It should be ready next year when you want to come back.” 

I thanked her for the tour and asked how to contact her; she wrote down the hotel Facebook page and said to private message her.  When I returned to Arequipa, I wanted to stay at this charming but shabby big house. I knew from our conversation that any guests had to first meet with her approval. “Mostly professionals,” said it all. This was no hostel for backpacking millennials. 

It was August, 2019. I decided right then to come back in 2020 and study Spanish in Arequipa, lodging at the Runcu. I saw myself curled up in one of those big comfy armchairs in the bedrooms—I would want a room on the second or third floor—working on a book, like Hemingway during his expat days in Paris. 

Such were my dreams for 2020, a magical number that would surely bring magical events. I had big plans for 2020.

No Such Place as Perfect

 I've been missing in action since April ended due to traveling and then guests. I arrived in Kansas City just in time to rush from the airport to the school and see these two on their last day. Kindergarten "graduation"-- missed the "ceremony" but got to surprise the graduate afterward. I don't think he expected to see me. Then we picked up his brother in first grade for a photo opportunity. Nonny who lives in Mexico hasn't been around much, unfortunately.

After two weeks in the States, I returned home to Veracruz and prepared for one of my sons and his family to visit. Here we are visiting Mandinga, a small fishing village north of Veracruz. This is one of the best pictures but unfortunately, my daughter in law isn't in it since she took the picture. Probably why it turned out so well. She's great with a camera.

I love the tropical climate and relaxed lifestyle where I live. It's only a few minutes from the beach and in an area with lots to see and do. Quite a few family members have come and stayed in my large house with me. When I leased it, it was with my family in mind. I'm so happy when they come and sad when they go. Travis's family was here last summer and loved visiting the taco stand across the street from my house.

I've been here nearly five years and even with flying back a couple times a year, I miss so much. I will miss Mexico when I move back to the States, no question about that. The ideal would be for all my family to move to Veracruz so I wouldn't have to leave. But that won't happen because jobs, money, mortgages, kids, schools, college, responsibilities. 

Me, I'm retired and can come and go as I please. I tend to chase the ideal so who knows where I'll land. But I always remind myself there's no such place as perfect. Only those oh so fleeting perfect moments, captured now and then with a camera.